Mmmm. Growing season.
I'm beginning to arrive at a point in my 'stache growth that is laying upon me concerns.
Food concerns.

I fear food taking up residence.
And bringing in roommates.
Throwing obnoxious parties.
Could be cheese from a taco, chocolate sauce from a scrumptious ice cream cone (it is spring afterall), or a bread crumb from a Dagwood sandwich.
Now when I'm in public I must be more selective about the foods I eat.
Rather than going for straight taste to maximize my bliss, I must subtract from the overall bliss the likelihood of something from each particular food nestling in amongst my whiskers.
And I'm starting to develop of compulsion of wipping my face.
Even when I haven't eaten for half-a-day.

This haunts me.